


On Shaky Mound

by danteshepherd



Category: Blaseball (Video Game), Boston Flowers - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danteshepherd/pseuds/danteshepherd
Summary: "Ace" Chambers Simmons goes about preparing to pitch, but he has other things on his mind.Set between Blaseball season 3 and 4.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: No Single Flower Wilted





	On Shaky Mound

Chambers Simmons leaned on the railing in the bullpen, peering out between the vines that draped down from nowhere and the thick flower stalks that rose up from the warning track, staring out into the nothing and everything of the field.

“Zeb,” he called, “I see the dang ghosts again.”

Zeboriah Wilson came to a stop in the middle warming up and tilted his head in the direction of Chambers’ voice. His mouth twitched briefly beneath blank and expressionless eyes.

“Zeb zeb,” he offered, with resonant gravitas.

Chambers didn’t respond for a little while, then stood, tossed a blall into the air and caught it, and began to head out of the bullpen. “Yeah, that’s what I dang figured.”

\---

Chambers made his way through the pockets of knee high grass in the outfield, waiting out time-displaced trees that briefly emerged and solidified before vanishing again. Around him, several players threw long toss, while others signed souvenirs for fans at the edges of the field. Chambers scoffed at such kindness; he wasn’t against signing his autograph for anyone on anything - hadn’t he signed that car door for Vito a while back? - but most of the fenmaids were just looking to turn a profit with a signed blall, and that seemed to go against the spirit of the exercise to him.

A vine rose out of the ground and began to wind around his foot, but it stopped as soon as Chambers gave it a withering look.

“None of dang that now, Barb,” he snapped. “Game starts in half a dang hour.”

The vine made a sound like a soft whimper and receded into the ground.

“And you dang better not grab the other dang fellas either,” Chambers muttered. Home-field advantage was good and all, but splortsmanship has to stand for something.

As he approached the infield, Beck Whitney was running short sprints just on the grass, and Caligula Lotus was nearby, as usual, stretching. Chambers scratched at his neck, watching, remembering a day when it didn’t take him five hours to warm up and an aural massage to get loose. 

Beck noticed him and gave her usual warm smile. “Hey, Ace. Everything alright?”

Chambers squinted down at the ball in his hands. “Beck, I think I see the dang ghosts again.”

In mid-stretch on the ground, Cali’s leaves fluttered sympathetically. Beck held her smile, but there was a touch of sadness behind her eyes now. “Are you sure you it isn’t astral projection residue?”

Chambers slowly shook his head. “Don’t dang think so. Could be. Probably.”

Beck sighed and came over to stand next to Chambers, and they both paused to look in at the infield for a moment. Petals caught and swirled on the wind, and the sound of blall-on-bat rung through the air, but the emptiness on the grass before the game held their attention the most.

“Well,” Beck offered, “They really don’t pose much of a threat, though, right?”

Chambers snorted. “Those dang ghosts can’t hit a dang curveblall.”

Beck smiled. “You don’t throw a curveblall.”

“Never dang needed one.”

“Or you never tried to learn one.”

“Definitely aren’t going to dang start now.”

“Probably would help the team if you did, but I get it.” Beck twisted one cleat in the dirt, back and forth, then put her hand on his shoulder. “Nothing we can really do about the ghosts, Ace. There’s no real easy way to send them onwards, and most of us can’t even see them to be able to help you out, anyway.” She sighed. “I’d hold an exorcism of the field, but the last time we did that, we dispersed three teammates to a great beyond, and I’d rather not lose anyone again.”

Chambers rolled the ball around in his hand, searching for the right grip. “Alright, Beck.” He shuffled off to the dugout.

Beck called after him. “Hey, any luck finding Mildred today?”

Chambers shook his head. “No,” he shouted. “But the day’s not dang over yet.”

\---

Chambers sat in the dugout, picking at a pine tar stain on the blall. He watched Matheo make another practice attempt to steal third base, this time sliding past the bag where he’d surely be tagged out again. Leucosia, the third base coach, offered Matheo a short siren song of encouragement, as Matheo jogged back to second base to try again, brushing dirt off his pants and petals out of his hair..

The Groundskeeper pushed a wheelbarrow past the dugout. “Stevens!” he yelled in at him. “What are you sitting around there for?”

Chambers shrugged. “I see the dang ghosts again.”

The Groundskeeper chewed his lip in disgust. “Aw, weeds. Ghosts, huh? Guess I’ll go try and spray for them too.” And he trotted off.

\---

Chambers headed into the clubhouse. Owen Picklestein was already in there, letting off a soft bioluminescent glow and an off-pitch hum, their arm wrapped in ice.

“Ace!” Picklestein beckoned him over. “Came in to get an ice bath, soothe those old bones?”

Chambers shook his head. “No, Roland. Dang can’t. Electric blood, you know.”

Picklestein knew better than to try to correct him after this many years in the rotation together. Chambers slowly began to slump down onto the mat in the middle of the floor, and sighed, still gripping the blall.

“You alright there, Ace?”

Chambers looked up at them. “I see the dang ghosts again, Roland.”

“Ah.” Chambers paused and shimmered brighter for a second, then leaned back in their chair. “But you always see the ghosts, Ace.”

“True.”

“It’s an actual part of your pre-game ritual, buddy. You see ghosts all the time when you astral project. You always tell me that.”

“Dang true. But I’m dang supposed to see them there, Roland. Not here.”

“Yeah, but you always see them here, too, Ace.”

“But I’m not dang supposed to see them here!” Chambers snapped.

“Of course, Ace. Of course.” Picklestein leaned down at him. “But the point is that you DO see them. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Chambers rubbed at the blall some more. “... but I don’t dang want to see them any dang more.”

Picklestein sighed. “You’re a friend, Ace. We go back a while. So hear it out - you need someone personal you can talk to about this.”

Chambers looked up. “Don’t need any dang body. I got my dang wiggly pitch.”

“No, no, Ace-” Picklestein shimmered in emphasis- “Not like that. Just somebody outside the splort to talk to. Somebody a bit more separate to talk to.”

Chambers stared blankly. “But all we’ve got is the splort. And all I got is the wiggly pitch.”

Picklestein sighed again. “Yeah, but that wiggly pitch can’t talk back to you, Ace.”

“Don’t need it to dang talk. I got it, and that’s dang enough. Either dang way, it doesn’t believe in physics very well.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t pitch very well either.” Picklestein stood up. “You gonna get into your pre-game? Gonna leave you to it, then.” 

Chambers, left alone in the clubhouse, looked down at the ball and rubbed at the pine tar stain some more. “Don’t dang need anybody else. I got you.”

\---

About an hour later, after several vines had grown forward to curl around him in a verdant nest, with buds sprouting and releasing off-citrus scents, and the lights in the clubhouse reduced to a dim phosphorescence, Chambers rose out of his body and floated out to the field.

He did a few somersaults, nearly colliding with an astral moose. “Sorry about that,” he called. Continuing with his ritual, he arced around, back and forth, letting the higher plane become one with his arm. Tried and true approaches to carry enough astral force back to wiggle the ball just right when gametime came. Flips led into stretches and shimmies, and the hours-long habit played out like it normally did.

Looking down, several teammates were still working out on the field, souls shining with a bright purple glow. Some players had more than one soul, some less, but that was usual. The flowers glittered as well, but he had never been able to make sense of that. Flowers would do what they would do, Chambers figured.

And finally, he allowed himself to truly look around on the plane itself. Ghosts were around and about in bunches, as usual. But he didn’t mind them congregating, whispering, pointing and laughing, pointing and laughing. What else were they going to do over on this plane?

“You all keep it to your dang selves over there, but over there, you dang hear me?” Chambers yelled. The ghosts continued to laugh and point, laugh and point. If only he could bring a blall over to this side. Maybe they’d stay here if he could strike them out on this plane.

Chambers sighed yet again. He could spend some time looking for Mildred, but he knew Zeb would go and hide his body on him again if he waited too long over here - and besides, there was a blaseball game to play. So he floated back to the clubhouse.

Mildred was hiding here somewhere. He knew she was, somewhere here on the astral plane. This hide-and-seek game had lasted over eighty years now; he’d have time to find her someday. 

But not today. He had a game to pitch. And ghosts to strike out.


End file.
